#why do I need all of the things crammed in every corner

[amatasera]

@deliberatecontrarian yes yesss YESSSSSS 😍

love this bohemian maximalism

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Beautiful Stranger

Summary: Jake was talked into picking up the coffee order for the group, but little did he know he would be leaving with more than that.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Wow friends…it has been a hot minute since I have posted. Life got crazy and my motivation to write had lessened. But I am back and slowly going through my inbox requests! Thank you all for the constant love and support. Excited to put out more writing for you!

Jake had no idea how he was the one picking up coffee for the group, but here he was standing in line at an overly crowded coffee shop, twenty minutes out of the way of base.

It was obvious that he didn’t fit in with this crowd. Hipster was the word that came to mind seeing the strange outfits and unruly haircuts. Someone wearing a crisp uniform and hair with every strand in perfect place screamed odd man out. He was uncomfortable to say the least and swore up and down he would never be doing this again.

Bradley told him they ordered ahead so he wouldn’t have to worry about going through the order of nearly ten coffees, but scanning the pick-up counter told him he would have to wait some.

He found a small corner out of the way of traffic and took in his surroundings. One of the benefits of a place like this meant people watching would entertain him until the order was ready.

There was a couple splitting a bagel not too far from him. It looked like something out of a cheesy movie, with the whispering and lovey smiles. He had to bite his tongue to keep from snorting out loud.

The next group he saw looked to be college students strung out on entirely way too much caffeine with the way they were frantically typing. He didn’t miss those days of cramming for exams and writing pointless papers at the last minute. But he did think he at least looked a bit more put together when he was their age. Or that’s what he told himself.

Jakes eyes nearly passed over the young woman in the opposite corner from him, quietly writing in a notebook. She was locked into whatever she was working on, despite all the noise around her. Between the music playing throughout the store, expresso machines going off, and countless conversations being had, Jake had no idea how the woman could get any work done. But here she was, chewing on the end of her pen lost in thought, not giving anything around her an ounce of attention.

He found himself starting to really look at her. She was dressed casually but somehow managed to make it look almost professional. Her hair was pulled back into one of those giant clips that he never understood how it stayed in place all day. The makeup was minimal, but she didn’t need it in his opinion.

“Hangman?” Jake nearly jumped when he heard his order called out, breaking him away from the thoughts of the random stranger across the way. He politely nodded thanks to the barista and took the two drink carriers from her. But before he walked out, he threw a quick glance over his shoulder nearly tripping over himself when he saw the woman looking up at him. He recovered as quickly as possible, making it through the door without dropping anything.

It was on the way to base that the thoughts starting spiraling out of control. Was it a coincidence that she looked up as he was leaving? Was it his call sign that pulled her attention? And if so, why? Jake shook his head, stopping himself from continuing down the rabbit hole. He had zero interaction with this woman and yet his mind wouldn’t get off her. It was early in the morning, and he wasn’t fully awake to be making rational decisions. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Bradley and Natasha met him outside the locker room, thanking him for grabbing the coffee. He grumbled a response and went to his locker to put his things up. Bradley didn’t give much thought to the minimal interaction with the pilot, but Natasha did. “Everything go okay with the order?”

Jake nodded his head and shut his locker. “Just don’t see why you need something that expensive and out of the way when we have a perfectly good coffee machine here.” Natasha shook her head with a smirk, realizing just how out of his element he must have been.

“It’s good coffee. Can’t help that I have expensive taste.” Jake huffed out a breath, “Lord help your future husband.”

It was a week later when he got a text from Natasha begging him to grab her a coffee from the same damn place. He went to reply no, when another text popped up saying she was running late and would buy lunch to make up for it. Rolling his eyes, he replied back saying he was feeling something expensive for lunch to match his taste. An emoji with a lovely hand gesture was sent back with the word “fine”, making him chuckle. At least it was one coffee this time.

Jake took a deep breath as he walked into the coffee shop, mentally preparing himself for what seemed like unorganized chaos. The place was packed with nearly ten people in line waiting to order. He looked down at his watch and saw that he was here around the same time as last week, but for some reason today was busier than before.

The counter was filled with drink orders, taking him a minute to read through all the names. His friends’ wasn’t there yet and he turned to find refuge in his corner while he waited. He looked around at the people and while they weren’t the same as before, the types of groups remained the same.

“For someone who looked like he’d rather gouge his eyes out than be here last week, you came back.” A soft voice pulled his attention down to a woman sitting at a table close to him, revealing the beautiful stranger he had just managed to stop thinking about.

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason words wouldn’t form. He could slap himself for looking like an idiot in front of her. He had never once been at a loss for words with a woman, but something about her made himself conscious of everything he did.

“I didn’t mean to call you out like that. I just didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” She was smiling up at him, making the tops of his ears burn.

“A friend was running late and asked if I could pick up her order.” It was a short statement, but the smile on the woman’s face dimmed a bit. “Must be some girl for you to put yourself through this first thing in the morning.”

Jake quickly shook his head trying to back track, “She’s my teammate and promised me lunch if I did this. Nothing more.” The woman hummed and looked back down at her notebook.

“Well, if you make this a regular thing, I am good friends with the staff and might be able to get your order out a bit quicker. Wouldn’t want you to go into crisis mode over a coffee shop.” She was biting back a smile as she poked fun at his clear discomfort of the place, but Jake couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Darlin’, you have no idea how much that would mean to me.” Why he just committed to this being a regular thing, he had no idea. But he did know he wanted to see the beautiful stranger again.

“Hangman, right?” His eyebrows shot up at the remembrance of his call sign. “Hangman is my call sign. You can call me Jake.” Her eyes sparkled in what he thought was amusement.

“Well Jake, my name is Y/N, and I would be happy to help you out. I am here most days working on things. Why don’t you give me your number so you can text me when you plan on stopping by. That way I can let my friends know to look out for your order.” This girl was nothing but confident. Jake didn’t think he had ever had a woman ask for his number before and he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Hangman?” His name was called out like last time, but instead of feeling relieved to get out of the overcrowded shop, he wanted to stay as long as possible. “Better get going, pilot. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” She gave him a wink, something that he normally did with women, and knew he was already in trouble.

He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing the coffee and headed out to work. He hadn’t made it out of the parking lot before his phone vibrated with a text. “Make sure it’s not another week before you come back in. I might forget all about you.” Jake smiled and drove to base, texting her back when he pulled in.

“Wouldn’t want to keep a beautiful woman waiting.” The smile never once left his face as he walked in. Natasha thanked him over and over again for the coffee but stopped when he saw the difference in his demeanor this time. “What’s gotten into you?” He shrugged his shoulders, “You were right. The coffee there is worth the drive.”

She gave him a skeptical look but didn’t push him any further. She would rather have a happy Jake than one who was ready to pick you apart at a moment’s notice.

And that’s how it was for the next month. Jake volunteered to get the coffee, finding any excuse to talk to his beautiful stranger. But the visits became longer, and the texting became more regular to the point where every free moment he had was spent getting to know her. It wasn’t long before Jake asked Y/N on a date, and he quickly found that this girl was the one for him.

Everyone knew something was up with their teammate. He had become less selfish and more of a team player. A feat no one thought was possible but didn’t want to push their luck. It wasn’t until Natasha said she would get her own coffee that the truth came out.

“Jake, you have been getting my order for me for nearly a month now. I can get it this once and give you a break from the drive. Just let me know your order.” Jake shook his head at her and said he had no issues getting it.

Natasha kept pushing until Jake blurted out, “I see someone every time I go there. It is one of the few times the two of us get to spend time with each other because of our schedules.” She stopped and thought about what he had said. Who there would he see every single time?

And then it clicked.

“Oh god. Tell me you aren’t seeing Y/N.” Jake tilted his head in confusion. “How the hell do you know her?”

Natasha looked at him in shock. “Because she owns the coffee shop. And her dad is our boss.”

Jake froze as he took in her words. Owning the coffee shop made sense. She was there all the time and said she knew the staff well, because it was her staff. That didn’t bother him. What did was not knowing who her dad was.

“I didn’t know Maverick had a daughter.” Natasha shook her head.

“Not Maverick you idiot. Admiral Simpson.”

And that was when certain things clicked into place. She looked up at him the first day because she knew the call sign. Her dad had to of talked about them a time or two, especially with this new assignment. The amusement she had when he told her his name was for the same reason. She knew who he was, but he didn’t have the slightest clue who he had been talking to. This girl was okay with the last-minute changes in plans or the late replies due to his schedule because she had grown up with it. The group insisted on getting coffee there because they were supporting someone in the TopGun family.

He was head over heels for the Admirals daughter and was royally screwed when he found out.

A/N: Thoughts? Likes or dislikes? I always love hearing back from you all! Thank you so much for reading!

Tag list: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @bobfloydsgf @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticassidy

[muniimyg]

prologue // series m.list

note: no concussion will stop me … hi jus making sure u all still love me </3

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @kekerrreke @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

//

Jungkook hates studying. 

Although his grades prove to differ, a part of him has always thought it was simply good luck. For the most part, he’s an A student… Truth be told, he’s more of a cram-it-all-at-2AM kind of guy. On the odd days that Jungkook felt like he needed to prepare more, he liked studying in the University’s nest. There’s a good coffee cart there and it’s definitely much more social than the hideous library. 

Yet, the nest and his bedroom ceased to exist when he met you.

When he met you, Jungkook stepped into the library for the first time in nearly three years.

It was so odd.

He felt like a new student. It was a whole different world in that stuffy library of yours... He wanted to understand it so bad. Maybe that's why he kept coming back. Sooner than later, he realized that it wasn't the library he was trying to understand; it was you.

And it felt weird right off the bat. He felt so... Confused? Alone? It occurred to him just then that no one really talks about what happens when you develop feelings for someone... How you begin to alter your routine just so it can match theirs and how every little thing that you see becomes an excuse for you to use to see or talk to them about.

Since when did he care about who was in your Instagram story?

Since when did he care about which parties you were attending?

Since when did he give a shit about sitting next to you?

Oh, and not to mention the sudden change in preference... But let's fucking talk about the preference change.

He used to really like going down 3RD Ave to go home from the library, but you said it was too busy of a path. Going down 5TH Ave takes 5 minutes longer, but it's okay. The scenery is prettier. The walk is calmer. It's also conveniently closer to your place.

He used to not give a shit about oat or soy milk. Regular milk is fine. He's not even lactose. But since you prefer oat milk; so does he. You're right. It does make drinks taste better.

He used to only get haircuts once every 2-3 months... But you said he looked handsome when he cut his hair shorter than usual. Now, his barber asks him, "Seriously, bro, what's her name?" once a month.

It's mindblowing.

There are so many things he's changed about himself before he even realized he liked you. There are so many things that changed in his life just for the mere chance of you liking it or noticing it.

Like, fuck.

He's such a fucking loser.

Jungkook doesn’t know why he feels this way... He just does. It swirls in his stomach and presses on his chest. Simply, he’s confused about whether he can control it or not.

This feeling.

This change.

Truly, all he knows is that if you like something, he likes it too.

If you hate something, he hates it too. 

If you do something, he will do it too. 

A part of himself can’t even be upset at this change. At the end of the day, he was studying better. He was seating himself in a less overstimulating environment and above all; he was always with you. 

How could he be upset at that?

His thoughts pause as he feels you squeeze his arm for his attention. Gladly, he gives it to you.

"Hmm?"

"I think I'm all done for tonight—oh gosh—" Your words are cut off as you turn your face and meet his. He's so close! It caught you so off guard that your phone slipped from your hands.

"S-sorry," you apologize, pushing your chair back, bending down, and getting on the floor to find your phone. Jungkook quickly follows you, getting off his seat and meeting you under the table. "I didn't realize you were so close—"

"I was?" he asks, voice a little shakey. From the corner of his eye, he sees your phone and reaches for it. Just as he's about to give it to you, you laugh in response.

"I guess that's how close you usually sit to me. I was so focused on my work and when I finally turn away it was like boom! Jungkook!"

His facial expression remains blank as you ramble. You look at him softly, feeling a little confused. "Did you get another haircut, by the way? It looks good!"

He blushes.

You smile at him warmly, inching backward to get up from under the table.

"This? It was whatever—"

Jungkook's words cut off as a muted thud interrupts. He saw it happen. It happened so fast. Your forehead collides with the table's edge, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain.

He reaches for you, placing his hand over your forehead and hissing. "Shit, ___! Are you okay?"

Blinking away tears of discomfort, you wince as Jungkook presses his hand to your throbbing temple. "I'm okay," you murmur, trying to downplay the pain, though your voice trembles slightly.

It's in this moment that you take in how Jungkook looks at you. His eyes soften with concern as he studies your flushed cheeks and furrowed brow. Leaning in closer, he brushes a strand of your hair away from your face. His touch is so gentle and reassuring at the same time. It must be the bump because for some reason... You're dizzy.

You meet his gaze. Jungkook offers you a small smile and you melt. Despite the throbbing ache in your head, a warmth spread throughout your body at the sight of his fucking smile.

It's not even his best one.

His best smile happens when you say something under your breath and he catches it. Teasing you relentlessly, you've grown to accept his behaviour in exchange of seeing that damn smile of his.

It was worth it.

"Here," Jungkook takes your hand, “let’s get you an ice pack—owh, fuck."

Unsure if it's because he was nervous and distracted by the fact he was holding your hand, Jungkook clearly got ahead of himself. He doesn't time this right. His body jerked up too early, swiftly attempting to escape. Instead, a similar muted thud noise causes a muffled curse to escape his lips. The pain radiates through his skull and you look at him, knowing the feeling all too well.

Jungkook is stunned.

Jungkook is stupid.

What kind of genius hits his head trying to get out from under the table too?

As your eyes widen, your hands fly to the back of his head. You rub his head and lean in closer. Jungkook places his hand on your wrist, biting the inside of his cheeks.

He didn't know what emotion he felt more of... Was he embarrassed or was he was just super pissed at this fucking table right now?

Or was he kind of loving this?

You're so close to him that he can take your scent in. You smell so good... And you're so pretty up close. He pouts, and utters; "fuck, that really hurt."

You throw your head back and laugh. "I think we're idiots," you tell him. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Yeah..” He snickers. "Wanna keep this a secret? Let’s never tell anyone about this... Ever."

He offers you his pinky. With your free hand, you intertwine them and make your promise.

At that moment, as you two locked eyes, everything began to fade away. Jungkook wasn't pissed anymore.

Why should he be?

There was solace in your gaze. It was a good reminder that you care for him... And wow, did that make him feel good.

His heart beats faster and faster.

Then, it skips a beat.

As Jungkook feared, you had truly done it now.

With the slightest touch, the softest smile, and kindest eyes... You mesmerize him and he finds it difficult—impossible—to get himself out of this.

“Is this even helping—“

Jungkook catches your hands, keeping them on him. You tilt your head but smile shyly. He clears his throat.

“Y-yeah,” he lies. “I think I hit my head harder than you. Can you just.. Yeah?”

You nod, moving in closer. At this point, there’s no space between you two. You continue to rub his head and he does everything he can to memorize this.

Every detail on your face.

How your touch feels.

How you touch his heart.

The way he feels right now… Oh, god. It’s too much. It’s a kind of high he has never felt before.

For a moment you two sit there and it’s like there is no world aside from the one you two found in each others presence. Under the table, laughing and comforting each other—oh, it felt golden. Jungkook couldn't believe it... He couldn't believe how this fleeting moment changed everything he ever felt about you. There was no going back. There was no way out either... There was just... This.

Here.

Now.

What bliss? How slowly, then all at once, you bloomed for his gaze.

[diamondheartyux]

Pennywise

  "Legend has it he likes to be crammed into any tight, wet hole he can find." 

DK x xreader

Genre: Horror, Smut 18 + MDNI

Word count: 5.8K

Warnings: Clowns, aggression, dub\con-ish, this is pretty tame compared to the others BUT if I have missed anything please let me know.

Welcome to part one of Killer Climaxes! 👻

Peep the playlist here

In a small town in Seoul, rumors swirl about Dokyeom: a clown obsessed, sex crazed weirdo who hangs out in the town's sewer systems. He was Seoul's own little Pennywise except he didn't crave your life, just your orgasms. It was also believed that once he got his hands on you, you were never the same, your body morphing, turning you into a certified nympho as the desperate craving for more was all but unbearable. The only problem is he doesn't double tap, so the town is left with a hoard of mindless zombies walking around in search of their next lay that could come close enough to satisfying them. 

People always say there are pieces of truth in legends but you can't seem to find any in this. A whole town of lust driven citizens? A grown man who roams sewers dressed as a clown? No sane person would do these things. It was absurd not to mention the fact that you were absolutely terrified of clowns. You scoff, one headphone in blasting your favorite playlist, as you quickly crumble the newsletter in your hand. Your footsteps echo on the wet pavement, the chilly autumn air hanging with the remnants of the storm having just passed through. The leaves rustle in the trees lining the street, the air around them dancing in shades of yellow, orange, and red. A breeze blows softly, whispering to your skin as it coaxes goosebumps to the top. You pull your cardigan tighter around you as your feet pad over piles of fallen leaves with a satisfying crunch. 

The sun was hidden behind the looming gray clouds, dimming the bright rays to a muted light around you. It was almost dusk, that time between early afternoon and nightfall when the street lights would turn themselves on at the first hint of dimness. You take in a deep breath, savoring the smells of damp and decay surrounding you and the scent sends waves of peace to your brain and through your body. It really was the most wonderful time of the year. You tread softly, in no hurry to get home as you travel the familiar path from college to your house. You zone out, your feet carrying you off muscle memory, as you nod your head to the music blasting in one ear. This road was empty, as it always was. That's why you chose it. No cars, no bikes, and most importantly: no people to bother you as you decompress from the day full of academics. 

Humming softly, you skip a little as you lose yourself to your music pumping loudly in your ear, your arms swinging and your shoes stomping on piles of wet leaves. Your body moves to the beat, shimmying in time with the tempo. Your mind is lost within you, the rhythm in your ears is just the escape you need after today. The town was buzzing for Halloween as it quickly approached, every corner boasting of witches, vampires, and clowns. All make believe creatures merely brought to life by childlike wonder, things you didn't understand the fascination with. 

You pass a storm drain and roll your eyes before tossing the balled up newsletter in your hand at it as you pass. You watch it as it disappears, hitting the concrete on the inside with a small noise and you smirk proudly. It was a perfect shot which is a lot because your aim was terrible. You turn back to the empty road before you with a smile on your face, amping the volume on your phone up. And you almost miss it. 

You weren't sure what you heard at first. A rustling so soft, it sounded like a background noise in your song. You pause the music, still strolling, and listen. When you don't hear anything you unpause it then rewind, listening for the odd sound again. Concentrating on the notes and rhythm in your earbud, you finally hear it again yet this time, it's in a different spot in the song. You stop, your mind on alert now as you turn to survey around you. Your eyes laser in on everything, searching for anything or anyone around you. 

You turn slowly to your right after sweeping the left and that's when you see it. Your eyes widen as you stop mid turn, your shoulder angled towards the storm drain you just passed. There, about half a meter from the drain was the newsletter you threw inside. Your brain is buzzing, busy sending out signals of danger through you yet your body remains frozen in disbelief. Against better judgment, you bring your body to face the drain. Your head tilts curiously as you study the paper ball in the street. Your eyes dart from the drain to the paper and back. You knew you had thrown it into the drain. Hadn't you? No, you saw it go in. It was the perfect shot, wasn't it? You lift your foot the slightest bit much to your brain's disappointment, and you push yourself forward, taking a timid yet cautious step. 

You make your way back to the paper, one small, scared step at a time. You try to come up with reasons for what happened yet none of them make sense. You stop, bending down slowly to grab the paper as you approach it and that's when you hear it. A sound so soft you almost missed it. You squat down, peering into the sewer when you hear it again: a whimper. It’s childlike in nature and a panic begins to bloom in your chest. Was there a child in there? How long had they been in there? Were they stuck?

“Hello?” you call timidly, your voice soft but loud enough to bounce off the concrete of the drain. You gasp lightly when a small, timid voice returns your greeting. 

“H-h-help me.” it says softly, the high pitch whine of a scared, small child ringing in your ears, sending alarm bells through your entire body for the wrong reasons. You lean forward some, placing your hand on the slick pavement to balance yourself as you try to peer into the drain. 

“I’m stuck. Please help me. I’m so scared. It’s so dark here. I want my mom.” the voice says to you, a hushed sniffle paired with a choked sob following its last words. Your heart pounds, shattering and the sirens of your brain are silenced by the overwhelming need to help this poor scared child. You lean forward more, your face now mere centimeters from the opening. You tilt your head side to side as you survey the blackness that presents itself over the lip of the entrance. You pull your foot forward to walk yourself in your crouched position, the sound of your sneakers dragging across the pavement feel louder than they should be but still bounce off your ears despite the frenzied pumping of your heart. 

“Give me your hand. Let me see if I can pull you out and then we’ll find your mom, okay? Can you reach the top?” you ask tenderly as you continue to move your face closer. Your arm comes out hesitantly, hovering just in front of your chest as you wait to see little fingers breach the darkness in front of you.

Small sniffles echo quietly in the inky dark space and you sit frozen, eyes trained to it. 

“I’m reaching as far as I can. Can you see my fingers?” 

You tilt your head curiously, concluding that the child was too short to be seen over the edge so you lean forwards more, one knee coming to almost touch the ground as your hands rests on either side of you for balance. You bring your face to the storm drain, eyes straining to see the outline of small, chubby, childfingers. When you see nothing, you feel a mixture of frustration and concern. You squint before you call back out. 

“I can’t see you.” You reply but then you see pale white fingers slowly come from the void of the drain as they snake up into the air before coming down one by one to grip the lip deliberately. You tilt your head in confusion. The fingers are long and slender. And pale. They very much do not look like children’s fingers unless maybe it was the way the shadows cast in there. Maybe it was optical, something your brain couldn’t understand due to the vast varying degrees of dark and light. You watch, holding in a breath while leaning closer subconsciously before you hear the voice again.

“Can you see me now?” it asks in response, the childlike falsetto distorting with every syllable.. You lean forward a bit more out of curiosity, eyes squinting as you try to see when suddenly a face appears, popping up quickly. You gasp, startled and fall backwards as an eerie giggle floats across the space between you. It takes a moment for you to register that you were looking at a clown. His face was painted a ghostly white and it cracked along the lines in his forehead to settle into the wrinkles of his skin. His yellow eyes gleamed manically, the red lines running through them in consistency with the curve of his cheek stopped at the end of his lips before outlining them in the same deep red that lines his face and the top of his nose. A ruffled, dirty white collar framed his neck, resting under his chin. His hairline was pushed back, his red hair barely visible in the shadows.   

A scream dies in your throat as terror strikes you, coursing heatedly through your veins. Adrenaline responds immediately and you can feel your muscles trembling at the sight. A clown. A fucking clown. You’re frozen, deer eyed as you watch this creepy clown, his long white fingers lifting as more malicious laughter breezes off his lips. His hand begins to slowly climb out of the shadows, reaching at snail’s pace towards your ankles. Your hands ache from leaning back on them and your chest heaves as panic threatens to shut your entire system down. 

His fingers creep closer to your feet and you stare, helplessly frozen as they uncurl before stretching slowly in an attempt to wrap around your ankle. In that moment, your brain finally switches back on and you instinctively shuffle backwards in a desperate attempt to put space between you and him before curling your feet closer to you. Tears fall down your cheeks, your vision blurry with them as you scramble to get away. Your eyes refuse to leave his terrifying face, the sadistic smile curving his lips upwards and exposing his teeth, etch itself in your memory. You finally manage to pry your watery vision from the terror in front of you as you twist to the side, trying to push yourself up to stand and run. That’s when you feel it. 

His fingers wrap around your ankle and terror buzzes through you once again. Your heart pounds rapidly against your ribcage, as if screaming to get away. You turn your head to look back over your shoulder, both hands flat against the damp street under you before you kick your leg as you try to shake him off.. His hand grips tighter and his grin grows wider, exposing more of his pink gums.

He tugs at your foot, pulling you closer to the drain and to the darkness inside it. You kick harder and more frantically this time while sobs begin to erupt from your chest. He pulls you quicker and your flailing slows down to a stop. You try to grasp the ground as you inch closer to him, your nails cracking and breaking against the pavement before they begin to bleed. Your fingertips ache and, despite the failed efforts, you continue to claw in hopes to get away. You dig your hands tighter against the concrete as his giggles dance up your body and hover in your ears. Your vision is cluttered with tears despite the stream of them cascading down to drop from your chin.

In spite of your efforts, you can feel him pulling you closer, your legs bending as they crest the lip of the drain and dangle in the darkness inside it. Your arms ache and your fingers throb, the tips raw from your pointless struggling. You sniffle as your attempts to free yourself dwindle. Your body slides deeper into the storm drain, your legs dangling aimlessly as your waist finally crests the lip. He tugs you more with his slender fingers wrapped around your ankle almost painfully.You all but give up, allowing him to drag you further into his makeshift lair when suddenly you stop moving. He yanks your ankle to pull you down but you don’t move. Your upper body from the waist up remains on the outside, your hips too thick to snake into the bend of the drain. You wince as he continues to tug on your leg. Your hands return to trying to grip the road as you attempt to pull yourself out. Your legs flail frantically, hoping to take this opportunity to escape.    

A sigh of frustration permeates the air as he finally stops pulling your leg. You kick your legs continuously as you try to shimmy your way back out when suddenly a sting radiates across your backside. You jump slightly at the sudden, unexpected motion. Just how hard did he slap you for it to sting through your jeans? You continue to work to free yourself when another sting radiates through your bottom half. Your attempts falter as your body and your brain begin to work on different levels. Your brain tries to process what's happening while your body,...well your body doesn't seem to understand. The dull ache left in the wake of his hand spreads through you and your body is responding in all the wrong ways. A craving starts to wake, yawning as it rises slowly in your core so when his hand connects with your ass again, you almost moan involuntarily. 

Your brain bounces everywhere. You should be trying to get away, not all but anxiously waiting for the next touch. It had been a while since someone had made you feel good and the fact that his face was hidden almost made it bearable. But he was still some weirdo dressed as a clown and you should definitely get away, shouldn’t you? You reach a hand out in front of you and put pressure on your fingers as they grasp the pavement the best they can when his fingers begin to trail the inside of your legs. You pause as they work up from your calves at a tantalizingly slow pace. The tips of his fingers barely press against your pants as they tickle and tease on their ascension. You bring your bottom lip into your mouth, gnawing it as you anticipate the touch you knew was coming. He stalled, stopping to draw lazy circles in the middle of your inner thigh and you sigh before shifting in an attempt to move his hand where you want it.  

A chuckle creeps up before his fingers continue their journey, grazing teasingly over the crotch of your jeans. You shift, pushing yourself backwards against the touch. His hand slips up towards your stomach, his fingers curling to cup you before they rub small circles against the fabric. You stifle a groan, the touch not nearly enough friction through the thick fabric of your jeans. 

His hand disappears quicker than it appeared and you almost whine in protest before you feel his hand snaking between you and the wall you were dangling against. His other hand remains on your ankle, the grip loosening slightly as his fingers work to unbutton your jeans. He slides the zipper down slowly before pushing the fabric down as best he can with one hand. You shift slightly, instinctively trying to roll yourself against his hand to no avail. He continues to push your jeans down to your knees before he brings his hand back between your legs. His fingers slip over you, sliding skillfully between your folds. He runs them back and forth lazily before bringing his fingertips to your clit. You moan quietly as the motions send tiny jolts of pleasure through you. 

His hand around your ankle loosens more as he rubs you at a teasingly slow pace, his hand still cupped as it hovers over your ankle while he waits to see if you try to escape again. You barely feel him remove his hand, your mind focused on how you could get more pleasure from his digits to even bother with trying to run even if you had. Another soft chuckle vibrates the air before you feel his opposite hand come to caress your exposed ass. You groan at the touch, pushing your hips into his hand for more friction. He pops your ass lightly as you do and you whine. The slap wasn't enough to sting but enough for you to get the point that he was in control here, not you. The teasing was frustrating despite how little of it had been given. You were already desperate for release before this and he was making it worse by drawing it out. 

He runs his hand over the curve of your ass, gripping your cheek gingerly as he tugs it towards him to expose you some. You gasp softly before a low moan quickly escapes your mouth, billowing over your lips as you wait for what you expect to come. His fingers dip slowly, tauntingly as they casually glide down the curve of your ass and dip between your legs. You shift in an attempt to open your legs up more to allow him in which causes him to chuckle again at your eagerness. His skinny fingers stop to tease your now dripping entrance. You moan as the fingers circling your clit pick up their pace ever so slightly before he slips a finger inside you. You push your hips backwards to meet him as he sinks his digit deeper in. He starts out slowly, pulling his finger almost all the way out before pushing it back in to curl repeatedly in search of your sweet spot. You shiver slightly with every stroke as it warms the embers burning in your stomach. 

His fingers work you in a rhythm, picking up in pace gradually. He slips a second finger into you and you groan, your aching fingers digging into the pavement again as your pleasure threatens to coil tight enough to snap. Your body acts on its own accord, pushing and rolling your hips between each hand faster and faster as you match his pace. He pumps in and out quickly, always making sure to stroke the sensitive spot buried in you. Your lip aches from biting back the sounds that brewed in your throat and finally, you press your forehead on the wet ground as the dam holding them back breaks. Your moans carry, vibrating along your skin to carry down to his ears. His fingers pick up, circling faster and pumping harder. The tension now festering inside was growing too fast, it was uncontrollable and finally, it broke loose. Your body shudders and you clenched around his fingers, his ministrations sending you right over the edge without a second glance. You moan into the concrete as pleasure crashes into you. His fingers don’t relent, still pumping in and out of you as he coaxes your orgasm on. 

Your body quivers slightly as you buck softly through each wave. His hand falls from your clit before his fingers slip out, leaving an emptiness in their wake. You groan and wiggle again, still wanting more despite having just gotten off. You hear his mouth pop, as if he had been sucking on his fingers before he chuckles again and you have to stifle a moan at the thought of him licking you from his fingers and enjoying it. You lift your head up, your breathing rapid as your brain tries to settle and unscramble when you feel yourself slip a little. You grip the road again to keep yourself where you are to no avail. You squeak out a small yelp and squeeze your eyes shut as your body slips more, sinking into the sewer. You brace yourself for the impact you were so sure you’d feel and when it doesn’t come, you open your eyes. 

It was dim, the soft light from the drain barely illuminating anything. Your pants were still bunched around your knees but with them were hands. You raise your eyes and turn your head and find those yellow eyes staring back at you. They gleaned but this time with lust instead of malice. His hands held your hips and he pressed his fingers into your skin lightly. You shut your eyes quickly, the sight of him sending terror to override the high you were still riding. His fingers danced against your skin causing it to prickle underneath his touch. Your body, despite better sense, ignited again as he ran his hand up your body to caress your waist. He turned you around to press his back against you and you could feel the outline of his arousal as it pressed into your bare ass. You moan quietly as his hands continue their journey, fingertips trailing as they come to cup your breasts. 

Your hand reaches back to rub against him as he paws your chest through your shirt, stopping to slip his hands under your sweater then your bra to caress your bare skin. His fingers graze over your nipples, flicking across them teasingly before he rolls them between his thumb and pointer finger. He tugs them gently and you gasp, your hand gripping his erection through his costume as you try to stroke him. You keep your eyes shut as he walks the two of you forward before coaxing you to bend. He lifts your hand from his crotch and places it against the cool, curved wall. A breath puffs from your lips at the crisp feeling against your skin, the chill a deep contrast to the heat blazing under your skin. His hands disappear from under your sweater and you hear the sound of his clothing rustling. In seconds, the hands have reappeared followed by the warmth of his skin as he grips your hips to pull you against him. 

You moan softly at the feeling of his bare erection pressing against the skin of your ass and you push yourself back towards him. He lifts his hands, one coming to spread your ass cheeks apart and the other to guide himself to your entrance. You arch your back as you offer yourself up to him and he takes the invitation, swiftly pushing himself into you. He curses lightly at the feel of you, your warmth and wetness eagerly swallowing him. His cock fills you with a fullness you hadn’t ever experienced before. You moan at the feeling of being stretched this way as he pushes into more and more. Your chest heaves as your breathing rises with every inch he buries inside you before you feel his hips against your skin again.

You hang your head, your hands resting firmly on the wall as he pulls back to slide out of you almost completely. You moan softly as he pushes himself back into you swiftly, setting the pace of the movements to follow. He starts to thrust into you fast, rocking your body with every pump. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips roughly as he pulls you to him with every forward thrust he makes. He grunts softly as you moan loudly, the sound reverberating off the walls around you. He thrusts faster, each one a little more aggressive than the last when a hand sides off your hips to caress up your back, over the base of your neck, and into your hair. His body leans over yours and you moan again as he pushes deeper into you while he fists your hair tightly. He tugs it roughly one time and you wince before he tugs again to pull your body flush with his, your back against his chest. 

You gasp and groan as your hands whip around to grip against his hips, legs, whatever you could find and his pumps into you hard and fast. His free hand comes to rest under your sweater, his bare hand holding you as it rests on your stomach. He tugs your hair again to pull your head back before he presses his lips into the crook of your neck. He pounds into you over and over while his lips glide over your neck, stopping only to allow his teeth a chance to graze the sensitive spot below your ear. His groans bounce between his lips and your ear and fuels the fire blazing dangerously in your core. You dig your nails into his skin when his hand slips from your stomach and his fingertips find your clit again. 

He rubs it almost furiously without bearing down painfully as he pumps faster into you. You rest your head against his chest, his hands still wrapped into your hair. The dam holding your sounds from earlier was all but shattered and the sounds of your moans mix with flesh colliding in the chilly, murky tunnel around you as they echo around you. You yelp as he pulls your hair harshly before letting it go, pushing your head forward as he does. He quickly forces you to lean back over and his hands find your hips again. He digs his fingers in painfully as he pulls out of you before slamming back inside roughly. The flames of your desire dance wildly with every thrust, pushing you closer and closer to combustion as he fucks you harshly. You hold yourself up on the wall as your body bounces violently in rhythm with his strokes. 

He grunts and groans in time with each one before finally the fire inside explodes. You cry out as your body convulses under him. His strokes hold pace as you clench around him, having missed the edge of your pleasure before being completely catapulted into the blaze instead. He draws it out but never lets up, his skin slapping against yours as layer after layer of desire burns through your cells. When the embers finally die, you lift your head up and let it loll back as he carries on, chasing his high. You rock back and forth in time with his body, more sounds pouring from his lips before finally he pulls out of you suddenly. The absence hardly has time to be felt before he’s spinning you around and pushing you to your knees. 

You don’t have time to think much less try to disobey before he shoves his cock into your mouth. You moan softly at the taste of you melting onto your tongue before he rocks himself against your mouth and shoves himself all the way in. You gag as he hits the back of your throat but it doesn’t stop him. He continues his chase. His fingers tangle into your hair as he guides your head back and forth to match the pace of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. He growls before he smashes himself against the back of your throat once more. His hands hold you flush with his hips and his cock twitches as you gag around it. Tears form immediately in your eyes as you feel a warmth spurt against your raw throat. He rocks against your mouth as he chases his orgasm, making sure to coax out every drop of his release as he can as you swallow instinctively.  

When he pulls out, you gasp for air and the tears pooling in your eyes creep down your cheek slowly. You cough, leaning over slightly. You only take your eyes off him for a minute but when you lean back up merely seconds later, he is gone. You rest a hand on your chest as you wait for your body and breathing to return to their normal, calm state. You turn your head side to side as you search for him but it's empty around you. You stand up and pull your jeans up to refasten them and readjust your clothing. You run your fingers through your hair in an attempt to comb it slightly before you turn to take in the area around you. You look up at the opening of the drain and know there was no way you would be able to get out of there that way. You turn to your left and begin to walk cautiously, your body on alert in the near darkness as you wait for him to pop out at you from the darkness somewhere. 

You walk for what feels like forever before you see small beams of light cascading from the ceiling up ahead. As you get closer, a ladder comes into view. You climb up, rung by rung, stopping to press up against the heavy cover closing the path into the sewer above you. You let it crack lightly and listen before pushing it up and over. You pull yourself out onto a deserted road before standing and replacing the manhole cover. You brush yourself off and take in the area around you before recognizing where you were. When you get home, you go straight to the shower to wash off your circus sewer romp in hopes to help calm your body down. You climb into bed after and pull the covers to your chin only to be haunted by the memories of your afternoon. His face flashes through your mind, those yellow eyes boring into you. Tingles dance across your skin, teasing your arousal until you can’t take it anymore. You work yourself quickly, desperate for sleep but he was even there. 

You dreamed about him, about the way he felt inside you. You heard the noises he made and felt his hands against you all over again. You awoke the next morning just as flustered as you were when you went to sleep. And it stayed this way. Every day and every night you were haunted by the memories of him and nothing was as satisfying as the way he slammed into you. Clowns no longer scared you after that. You watched them too closely now, hoping maybe one of them was him. You knew the rumors said he never hit it twice but you were desperate and only he could fill you the way you ached for. Every giggle that floated mysteriously across the air set your body and heart off. Every drain you passed, you stared at too long, hoping whatever you tossed inside would appear back on the street again after you passed. 

You groaned softly, remembering when merely days ago you were scoffing at the unreal accusations of how half the town were brain dead, having been fucked into an addiction only to now find yourself in the same position.                  

[star-spacer]

Peace and All Else

Part of my Heart Pirates x Reader series: The Sanctity of Sacred Spaces

With a life as chaotic as yours, you preferred quietness where you could find it.

You were someone who valued your peace. Not just as a personal preference, but for your job as well, as any interruption could result in an errant stitch, ruining the clothing, or a needle through the finger.

This need for quietness was ironic, considering you were on a crew of pirates, whose lives were marked by nothing but unending chaos. 

Paradoxical. Peculiar. But when you were a pirate crew who had a doctor at the helm, it didn’t seem that strange. You were simply one oddball amongst a crew full of them. Which lent to many, many escapades that echoed throughout the Tang. It was never silent, whether it be the noise of her machines humming away, or the sound of the galley’s mealtime preparations, there was always life in her halls. 

You wouldn’t trade it for any other thing, but sometimes everyone’s antics were a little overwhelming, and you had to slip away to seek out a moment of peace. Innevitably, you’d always end up in a few places. Namely: your storage-room-turned-workshop. 

After your welcoming into the folds of the Heart Pirates, they were kind enough to clear out an empty broom closet and convert it into a mini workspace for you. You had initially protested that it was too much, but Shachi had quickly shushed you by saying you’d pay it back by repairing everyone’s stuff and fixing up the infirmary’s linens. 

Eventually, those bolted shelves were filled until with rolls and rolls of fabrics, projects finished and not set in marked piles on your desk. Your walls filled with papers, ideas and sketches (both yours and not) displayed proudly. An almost-too-big-couch crammed right into the last unoccupied corner of the room, with a lopsided mannequin that Ikkaku fixed up for you standing proudly right next to it.

A home away from home.

Well, just a home now. You didn’t have any other place except with the Heart Pirates.

And in this peace, you could relax, and unwind. Pick up a thread and needle and weave your love into every fold and stitch of the fabric in your hands. Love that you hoped your nakama could feel.

Your hands jolted as the door to your workshop slammed open with a cry of your name. You grabbed the nearest object, a spare pincushion, and lobbed it with deadly accuracy at the intruder. Penguin yelped as the item beaned him right on the forehead, the brim of his hat barely protected him against your wrath. “What was that for?!?!”

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO KNOCK BEFORE YOU ENTER?! AND TO NOT SLAM MY DOOR?!”

“Sorry, sorry! But can I hide in here for a bit?”

You squinted at him, anger giving way to suspicion. “Why…?”

“Please!” The man clasped his hands in front of him, stepping into the room. “I’ll do anything!!”

An idea sparked in your head. “If you take my dish duty tonight… You can stay for as long as you want and I won’t rat you out if anybody comes asking.”

Not that you particularly hated doing the dishes, you knew the importance of equal distributions of chores (Law drilled that into every members’ head on the daily), but just this once, you had something pressing you’ve been wanting to do, so the extra time gained from Penguin taking on your duty was exactly what you needed.

Penguin didn’t even flinch. “I’ll take it!”

You grinned and let out a little ‘yos’. “You can hide behind the couch, There’s space there, and the floor’s padded.”

He was full of thanks as he dove behind the furniture, shuffling coming from it as he settled there. To complete the look, you walked over, grabbing the blanket on there, and draping it over the back of the couch, making it look natural.

Just as you were patting out the last of the wrinkles, slow, steady footsteps approached your workshop. A knock announced Uni’s presence before he stuck his head in through the open door.

“Hello, Uni. Can I help you with anything?”

A drone of your name. “Have you seen Penguin anywhere?”

You had to resist a smile. “No. Are you looking for him?”

A nod. Slow eyes tracked across your workshop but ultimately landed back on you again, standing next to the couch. “He used my gloves and didn’t clean off the grease.”

Wincing at that, you wondered why the hatted man thought that was smart in the first place. Uni’s gloves were far bigger than Penguin’s, but they were also slimmer, so shoving his mitts into those could’ve popped a few stitches. “If you want, you can bring them here, and I’ll fix and clean them up for you,” you offered.

Uni shook his head. “No need. I have spares. But I’m going to find Penguin to make him clean off the ones he used.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thank you. Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re fine, Uni. See you around.”

You waited until his footsteps were out of earshot before cracking a smile. Penguin shot you a grateful thumbs up and a grin when you peeked your head over to look at him. “It’s pretty comfy down here,” he said, wiggling his shoulders a bit. “Mind if I sleep here a bit?”

“Be my guest,” you drawled, wandering back to your desk and picking up your pencil. “I’m sure the dust bunnies appreciate the company.”

I appreciate your company, was left unsaid, but you hoped Penguin understood.

Peace returned to the room, only interrupted by the sound of your pencil and paper as you sketched your way through clothing patterns. Then, the quiet whistles of Penguin’s snores began to fill the air. You paused your work, before shaking your head with a fond smile.

You didn’t know how long you worked before there was a small flash of blue and Penguin’s snores being cut off for something to hit the floor where he was. Knowing that it could only be Law’s fruit, you got up to investigate what was Shambled into your room to swap with Penguin. 

A note, attached to one of your missing pincushions by a pin.

“That bastard,” you muttered, reaching down to grab everything from the floor.

‘Stop hiding people in your workshop’ the messy scrawl of his handwriting read. 

You snickered, sitting back down at your work desk and depositing the pincushion in its rightful place on your table. Your lamp flickered on, and you moved it so it shone over the drawing on your table, a revised boiler suit for Bepo that had more ventilation, so the poor Mink wouldn’t feel the heat as much when things inevitably got hot in the Polar Tang.

Yes, you valued your peace. But your workshop was a sanctuary, too. Not just for you, but every single one of your nakama that wanted to wander through your doors, in search of help, repairs, or just plain comfort. Peace came in many forms, and your nakama’s peace was yours.

[dickbaggins]

Oh lookie here, it's the end of Blowmance! Chapter five! Will they? Won't they? (psst they will, here's a teaser, it's a bloodweave grad school au where Gale's the bj queen of blackstaff, in case you're just joining us)

“Do you want to show me your room now?” Astarion tries, utterly presumptuous. But with the smirk, calculated, he knows it’ll hit just right. And it does. There’s a little blush creeping into Gale’s cheeks, and Astarion grins wider, presses closer. Laughs low and fond and presses his nose right up against Gale’s warm cheek. “Oh, you don’t have to, if it’s going to make you nervous. I’m being too quick again, aren’t I? Let’s just - “ Gale cuts him off with the turn of his head. The shine in his eyes stays, but his brows draw into something serious. Thoughtful. He turns his body, too, so they’re completely facing. Turns it and takes both of Astarion’s hands and some vast tonal shift buttons up Astarion’s mouth quicker than anything ever has. “I’ve been thinking. About things. About you.” Nothing good comes after a sentence like that. Astarion fights not to let it deflate him. “And, let me guess, you like me.” “Of course I do.” “So much.” “So, so much,” Gale repeats as emphatic as the first time he said it. It makes Astarion feel as giddy as the first time, too. Every time. It hasn’t lost any of its punch yet, somehow.

“Is that all you’ve been thinking of?” “No,” Gale said, and there’s finally a lift to his dire seriousness, a quirk at the corner of his mouth that Astarion knows precipitates a smile. “But I have this problem.” “If this is about your deliciously touchy dick again, Gale, I swear - “ “No! No, not…not that. Although, if this conversation goes right, that will need addressing.” “Oh. Oh. Well, keep talking then, don’t keep me in such suspense.” His bones feel like they’re going to jump right out of his skin if he doesn’t hear right fucking now what Gale wants to say to him. What he’s been thinking. It sounds good, it actually sounds like good news and his heart races away already. Still, always, too presumptuous for his own good. “My problem,” Gale starts again, making a sigh out of the words, squeezing Astarion’s hands at the same time. “Is that I do want things to go further, with you. I don’t know how far, exactly. We’ve already surmounted my most casual rules, and we’re onto the more serious ones.” “Such as don’t let anyone into your dorm.” “No, it’s not quite like that. I let people in, Astarion. I’ve got friends, classmates. Just last week, would you believe it, I crammed ten people in here to watch a movie? It was a whole thing, I baked a cheesecake and it was lovely, but there was no sex involved, is what I’m getting at here. No one I’ve even so much as kissed.” “Ah, that’s why I wasn’t invited.” “Things get complicated in ways I never seem to understand. People…expect things. So I’m going to be clear with you. Painfully forthright.” “Please.” “I do want to…” his head ducks. Hair fans out over his blushing face and Astarion doesn’t hesitate to brush it back, to tuck it behind Gale’s ear and let his hand rest against the side of his neck. “I do want to fuck you, Astarion. Since you said it, it’s been difficult to stop thinking about.” “Oh,” Astarion sighs and the held nerves dissolve right out of him. That’s really all he wanted, was Gale thinking about it. Because in the thinking about it, well, there’s no way that wouldn’t turn into something good. “But…” Gale draws it out and that’s mean. It isn’t on purpose. Astarion knows that, sees the indecision in the man’s face. In the barely-there lines of his frown, with his gaze still so down-turned. Astarion tips his head up, then. Hand under his chin and Gale goes easy with the motion and after a few seconds, he even looks Astarion right in the eyes again. And continues.

Blowmance, now a complete 5 chapter bloodweave grad school au!

[miyosei]

GODS DO NOT LONG FOR LIQUID GOLD.

premise. he will bring you the universe. all you need, is to ask ( a quiet moment in your embrace ) — ft. wanderer

gn reader implied nonhuman, timeline is a little weird… basically during the sumeru storyline, lowercase

the sea between sumeru and inazuma extends seven thousand kilometers further than the largest mountain in liyue. the sun rises over the horizon in the lavish city, bathing the marbled walls in its golden warmth and casting a shadow onto the hidden corners of the world. his eyes are the first to open, and yours are the last to close.

and if the universe would allow it, he would cradle the globe in his arms until it was the size of a glass marble—quietly kept under the promise of a kiss and held carefully in the palm of your hand, dancing delicately between your thumb and index finger and held tightly near your beating chest. a gift for you and only you, the first, and only one, to embrace him in his raw vulnerability.

sleep has never been a necessity, but in the quiet moments of slumber’s final solitude, you’re there—waiting for him in the same light in which he’d left.

you greet him with extended arms, and it's like he is meeting you for the first time all over again—stumbling over his words and tripping on his feet like a fool on the run. draped in pearly silks and a golden pendant that held more weight than the world itself, hushed voices and gentle laughter and eyes that could still sparkle with all the love and innocence he still had to offer. here, he takes your hands in his own and is more than willing to be scorched by your light.

it is what used to be a home shared for two, just on the outskirts of a wavering village. the garden is beginning to bloom. he knows this because you send him a letter at the end of every month—you promised.

to you, it is a journal entry of your collective thoughts. to him, it is the only promise he has ever known to have been kept.

his hands are cold when you return his touch, they always have been—something that he never used to think about until you brought it up one day, until he felt how warm yours were in comparison.

“do you know the distance between the moon and the sun?” you muse absentmindedly and play with his fingers. he raises a brow, and answers no.

when he learns that it’s three hundred and eighty four thousand kilometers, being across the sea doesn’t seem so far away. and your rare instances of meeting like this are likened to a solar eclipse. if not now, then never.

now, he is the moon. scooping up light that is not his own and cramming it into the cracks between his ribs, eating your brightness whole. he has survived this far on a staple diet of fear, leeching off each knock that falls against his door and commanding those beneath him to bend over at his will.

the moon is a thief and a liar. no wonder he would be the one to fulfill that role.

but ‘i love you,’ still slips from your tongue in the form of a whisper, dancing through the air and following the evening songbirds. the words settle in the silent atmosphere, and for a moment that lasts shorter than your next breath, scaramouche freezes.

he goes quiet, holding his thoughts for the first time since he can remember. and you can tell, from the way his eyes search yours with an expression that edges a little too close to sadness, there is a part of him that doesn't quite believe you.

a hand hesitantly reaches to grab at the fabric surrounding his chest, almost hoping to feel what should have been the erratic beating of his unstable heart — but, as usual, he finds nothing.

“why?” he asks in a clumsy blunder and as the first thing he can force out of his drying throat. his expression twists into one of disbelief, sorrow, and the quietest shine of hope, and he searches your own for any sign of doubt or insincerity.

you’ve only said three words, but it’s enough to make his world shift at its axes. he tells himself that you don’t mean it. that this is only a projection of his innermost feelings. that there is no way someone like you could ever feel anything but hatred and disgust for something like him.

still, there is a part of him wants to believe.

“say it again,” he pleads, his voice cracking at the edges. his chest aches and expands with the gust of wind. “please, say that again.”

the titles of a broken character are left in his wake. in one moment he was hooked up to a robotic mechanism—held together by wires attached to his joints and extracted knowledge that were injected into the veins he never quite had. in the next he stood before divine knowledge with an empty heart.

‘it will be better this way,’ he thinks to himself. for everyone, for you. a lifetime of forever in a world without him to dirty your light. a lifetime that you deserved.

this time, no one will get in his way, he will make sure of it.

he only hopes, that should you ever meet again, it will be in a better time.

[sitkowski]

inclination ( noah sebastian x matt dierkes )

pairing: matt dierkes x noah sebastian (background nicholas x noah!) cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ intercrural sex, biting, chastity devices (cock cage), mention of safe words, partner sharing. matt's…matt, who thought he'd be nice here? word count: 1k author's note: he made it out of the bathroom, but he's not done yet. more brain worms, please enjoy. divider by @saradika-graphics

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || locked mini series masterpost

Matt almost said no to being involved in whatever kinky shit Nick and Noah have going on. As a matter of fact, he did say no when Noah first asked him. The last thing he needed to do was play along with whatever game they were playing. He knew too much already, when they were all crammed together in the van or the motel, and Noah looked like he was three seconds away from crying every five minutes. And Nick couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, he’d already told Matt about the whole cage thing, if not to keep him from wondering why he was being so mean to Noah on a regular basis during the tour. He knew that Noah had to do certain things to get Nick to use that key around his neck.

So yeah, Matt caved. Like he always did.

They were leaving for their flight early in the morning, but everyone was still going out to the bar down the street from the motel. Which was fine, Matt knew how to corral them all and get them to the airport on time. He had a birds eye view of Noah and Nick going down the hall to the bathrooms, to Folio going after them, and then Jolly when Folio came back out. He herded them all out the door at a reasonable hour. And when Nick told Noah that he was going to watch a movie with Jolly and Folio back at the motel, Matt knew it was his turn.

He follows Noah to his and Nick’s room, leans against the door and watches as Noah paces a bit while he shrugs out of his jacket. His eyes are wild and unfocused, and Matt almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

“I’ve gotta give you credit,” he says. “I really thought you would have safe worded out by now, you’re a fucking mess.”

Noah freezes and turns to look at him, and he sees that bratty little attitude he sometimes gets. “Yeah? You gonna make it worse?”

The corner of Matt’s mouth tilts up. It’s obvious that Noah’s patience with the night is wearing thin, but that’s not really his problem. He waits, staring at him until Noah starts to look a little uncertain before he pushes off the door and crowds himself into his space. It doesn't matter that he’s got to look up at him. “You know I’m the one who’s gotta tell him if you were good or not, right? The last stop before you get out of that pretty little cage of yours, Sebastian.”

“Shit,” Noah whispers.

Matt smirks. “Yeah, shit.”

He starts to say something else, maybe apologize, but Matt doesn’t let him. Instead he drags him into a kiss. He figures it’s only polite to do so. When Noah tries to sink to his knees, Matt shakes his head.

“That’s not what I want from you.” Noah opens his mouth to ask, but Matt shushes him. “Where’s your lube?”

“We can’t—”

“Don’t worry, I know what we can and can’t do. I already asked. We’re not gonna fuck…exactly.”

He thinks Noah might argue, and if he did he’d think of something else. He’s not here to make him do something he’s uncomfortable with. Just like everyone else, Matt knows the safe word. Noah doesn’t use it. He backs away, grabbing the bottle of lube that is right on the nightstand and brings it back, holding it out expectantly.

“You gonna let me see it? I know no one else has.”

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, Noah undoes his pants, pushing them and his boxers down around his thighs. The cage isn’t what he thought it would be, for some reason he was expecting something steel and unforgiving. Noah’s is a pale blue color and silicone, with a little gold padlock. He knows that the key is always around Nick’s neck. Matt stares until Noah starts to blush and fidget, curling and uncurling his hands at his sides.

“It’s cute,” Matt says, not entirely sounding nice about it.  He taps his fingers against it, and then pulls back to gesture towards the dresser. “Why don’t you bend over that for me?”

Noah moves like he’s told, and Matt undoes his shorts. He sees the way Noah’s shoulders lose the tension in them as he waits for whatever Matt’s going to do. He hadn’t been lying, he had no intentions of fucking Noah. Maybe because Nick would kill him. But he pops the cap on the lube, slicks his fingers and strokes himself idly, letting Noah wait. To his credit, he doesn’t move past letting his head fall forward between his shoulders. Matt slides his cock between Noah’s thighs, and he hears his sharp intake of breath.

“Oh,” Noah glances back, and then shifts around to close his legs around him. Matt hisses at the feel and Noah smirks. “Okay, c’mon.”

Not wanting him to think he’s got any kind of leverage here, Matt grabs him by his shoulder and hip, rocks against him hard. The friction works in the best way, and beneath him Noah slumps forward even more. His hips knock into the dresser with each thrust, and Matt swears under his breath. Every time his cock brushes against the cage, Noah whimpers and Matt feels a thrill up his spine. He leans over, arm braced beside Noah’s head. He grinds into him, and when Noah turns his head and sinks his teeth into his arm, Matt is almost surprised that’s what makes him come.

Matt pulls away and Noah stays there, gasping for air. He can’t help but move enough to look down at him and the mess he left on his thighs. “Might wanna clean up before your boyfriend gets back.”

“Fuck…off…” Noah manages, lifting a hand and flipping him off.

Matt chuckles, fixing his clothes before he reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“Might wanna hydrate too. I think you’re gonna need it.”

⇉ taglist:

@deathblacksmoke @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens @malice-ov-mercy

@circle-with-me @dominuslunae @sorrowsofsilence @collapsedglasshouses

@vinyardmauro @thatchickwiththecamera @th4t-em0-k1d @collidewiththesavannah

[spaceorphan18]

Bits and Pieces : Moment 1

This is the first one in an anthology of one-shots where I fill in missing moments during Season 3. Mostly, I just wanted to explore the unseen things we didn't get on the show, and do some character studies for Pen and Colin. The first one is set just as the season opens, from Pen's POV.

****

A stack of letters waits for Penelope on her nightstand.  She knows what they are, and yet moves around her room, attempting not to look at them. 

The summer had been… as good as one could expect given the abysmal end to the previous season.  Her sisters’ weddings had been dizzying affairs but at least they left Penelope in relative peace.  Left to sit in the corner to read.  To write.  To think.  And think and think and think… 

Oh how she had wanted to get out of her own head.  

Returning to Mayfair hasn’t been the worst experience.  Plenty of new faces showing themselves this season.  Plenty of new, lovely ladies -- many of whom she sees shades of herself in, making their debut.  Plenty of things for Lady Whistledown to write about.  

She isn’t able to make herself feel better but at least through her writing she could do better for others.  She is trying to atone for her past mistakes.  She is of the mind that even if she can’t do anything about herself, she can at least attempt ease for others.  She is not completely powerless.  

The stack of letters still waits.  

She tells Rae she doesn’t need help to unpack.  All of her books are carefully returned to their home on the shelves.  All of her hideous dresses crammed back into the wardrobe.  All of her secrets buried safely underneath the floorboards.  She has a lot to do now that she’s back.  

Yet the distraction on the nightstand is becoming unavoidable.  

She sits on the edge of the bed, and picks up the first one from the pile.  It’s thick and heavy in her hand.  She knows from experience that it’s not a single sheet of paper, but pages and pages of writing, front and back.  He used to write her everything.  Apparently he still does.  It makes her stomach turn.  

The postmark is from Dublin and dated a week and a half earlier. 

Oh god… is he close to home? Her heart involuntarily flutters at the thought.  

Of course he’s close to home -- the season is starting.  Francesca is making her debut this year.  He would want to be there for that, wouldn’t he? 

She stares at the letter and contemplates.

She had spent so long over the past few months trying to forget the gentleness of his face, the soothing sound of his voice, the protective grasp of his hand.  So long did she try to untwist the deeply rooted thorns of love so painfully ground into her heart.  

She looks at the stack of letters and wonders why every time she takes a step forward there’s always something to pull her back.  

She begins to flip through the envelopes, noting the vast array of postmarks on them and wonders even more -- did he miss her?

Lisbon, Madrid, Barcelona, Bordeau… 

Her mind races back to that evening, back to that gut wrenching night.  The kindness she thought she saw in his eyes.  

I will always look after you. 

…Paris, Lyon, Zurich, Munich… 

The flippancy of his voice, how it tore through her heart like a knife.  

I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington

…Milan, Rome, Venice, Vienna… 

How could such sacred words to her be so hollow to him? 

You are special to me.  

…Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam, Brussels…

How was it she could be deluding herself for so long? 

Not in your wildest fantasies

…Athens.  Athens?? 

It’s the last envelope in the stack, and the only one that gives her pause.  There’s no way… she tears open the letter, not helping herself, and notes the date from a year and a half prior.  It must have gotten lost or delayed.  

She unfolds the letter and a few dried, dark red flower petals fall out.  

Penelope, 

I spent the day wandering the beautiful gardens of our host and came across an array of poppies that reminded me of you.  Of the splendid color of your hair.  As much as I’m enjoying my tour, I suppose I’m missing home just a little bit.  And looking forward to the day when I can describe such beauty to you in person. 

Or maybe, I wish you were here to see these flowers in their natural glory.  

The best I can do is send a little piece of Greece to you.  

Colin 

She casts the letter onto her bed with a frustrated cry.  

Why? 

Why is there always something that makes her love him just a little bit more? 

She hops off the bed, collecting all of the letters, including the one she opened, and gathers them in her arms.  In a moment of anger, she rushes to the fireplace with the intention of throwing all of them in.  But she stops, mesmerized by the flames.  .  

Her brain is screaming at her to throw them all in and be done with it.  Nothing good will come of keeping those letters.  

Her heart won’t let her; keeps her frozen in place.  His letters are a piece of himself that he’s giving to her.  And she can’t so easily cast that aside.  

Resigned to her own predictability, she heads to her desk, and opens the bottom drawer, placing them gently against all the rest of the letters she’s received from him over the years.  She still won’t read them.  Won’t allow herself to read them. 

The poppy petals she has kept out, and puts them in a small jar on her desk with other small trinkets that she has kept over the years, smiling at them fondly as she does so.  

She has to try to move on somehow, someday.  

But today is not that day…  

It’s only later that she realizes there have been no letters from Eloise.  Her heart aches just a little bit more.  

[eveningspringbreeze]

Madara's FS2 4* - Winter, in the Street Corners of Paris

Characters: Madara, Shu

Season: Winter

Shu: Mm… Yaawn...

(Perhaps it’s from pulling an all-nighter, or perhaps it’s burnout from finishing my deliveries, but it seems I’ve been fast asleep until the afternoon)

(Fortunately, I have plenty of time to spare until I must work again. So as to maintain perfection when working, I ought to rest properly)

(Perhaps I could relax with a stroll—) 

Madara: Excuse meeee!!! ☆

Shu: Gyoh!? M-mikejima….!? What in good heavens brought you here!? 

Do not bother me! Leave this instant! I do not want to have a barbarian such as you stampeding upon my atelier! 

Madara: Ahaha! This banter is so nostalgic! (1)

Didn’t we have a similar exchange back in Yumenosaki? If I’m not wrong, it was during Steamp— 

Shu: Non! I have no intentions of taking a trip down memory lane with you! 

You must have some business with me, right? Make it brief. 

Madara: Business, huh. And if “no” was my answer? 

Shu: …………

Madara: Sorry, sorry! I was just joking, you don’t have to glare at me all scary like that! 

Basically, Leo-san needed something from me. 

Shu: Tsukinaga did…? 

Madara: Yep. Apparently he’s been taking good care of a pen case that he borrowed from you. 

So much so in fact that he accidentally left behind the case’s stationary in this atelier. 

Shu: He’d only taken a pen case? Well, I suppose he is dexterous.

And that’s it? You came all the way to Paris just for Tsukinaga? 

Madara: Nah, I already had some work here in Europe, so I’m just dropping by.

Shu: “Dropping by”? No matter how trivially you say it, Europe’s not a place you can just casually travel through. 

 Either way, Tsukinaga’s forgotten belongings are not here. 

I had to send some luggage to the Starmony Dorms the other day, and I crammed in similar items as well. It’s probably all the way over there now. 

Good grief, why must everyone forget every little thing here? If they want to spend time overseas, perhaps consider bringing in some caution alongside? 

Madara: Mmhm. Since both language and culture are different, the way to do things here are bound to contrast with Japan’s. There’s no harm in being attentive. 

But also this atelier’s got such a homely feeling to it, it really calms you down. Maybe that’s why everyone’s losing their belongings here ♪

Shu: I'm not happy to hear that. This place isn’t a playground. 

Seems to me that you’ve been on a fool’s errand. Are you departing Paris after this? 

Madara: Nah. I’ve got time until my flight, so I’m planning on relaxing ‘til then. 

….Hmm? Why’re you dressing up? 

Are you going out? If so, please allow me to join you ☆

Shu: I refuse. I cannot relax when I’m near you. 

Madara: Now now, don’t say that! A journey is not just about the companions you have, but the people you care for along the way! (2) Having a friend is better than none…♪

<one hour later> 

Shu: …Seems like there’s a weekend flea market going on. 

Madara: Ooh, quite the Parisian spectacle! 

As you may or may not know, Paris is the one and only homeland for flea markets. 

It supposedly originates from the multitudes of secondhand-goods being sold resembling a flea infestation! (3)

Shu: I’m aware even without your quips, so do not spout such things at me. Just imagining it makes my back itch. 

Plus, that isn’t the only theory regarding its origin. 

I personally prefer the theory that it comes from the saying that “there is enjoyment found in taking the the time needed to search for treasure in the same way one would search for a flea”.

Madara: Enjoyment found in taking the time to search for things, huh. Truly, it must come from the exceptional feeling of accomplishment that comes with finding that rare piece of treasure. 

….Oh myyy? Something’s already caught my eye! 

This ceramic pot would be perfect for displaying plants ☆

Shu: Hm. Is gardening a hobby of yours? 

Madara: I wouldn’t quite call it a “hobby”. 

I’m not sure who started it, but my dorm room’s filled with plants, so I like bringing in some new ones from time to time. 

“Excuse me, shopkeeper-san! I’d like to buy this pot—” 

Shu: (....Ooh, looks like his constant traveling has lent him a rather good grasp on French) 

 (The real thrill of flea markets is the haggling. You must put your negotiation skills to its truest test….) 

<ten minutes later> 

Madara: —Thanks for waiting, Shu-san! 

Sorry for how long it took. I really hit it off with the shopkeeper. Before I knew it, we’d already talked for so long!

Shu: It’s alright. It’s good that your negotiations went well. 

It is of no concern to me what happens to you, however. But it would be a shame to watch an acquaintance get blatantly ripped off. 

Madara: Ah, so you were worrying about me. Thank you Shu-san, you’re a nice soul…♪

Shu: Don’t misunderstand. I simply do not want to feel unpleasant. 

Madara: Even then, that makes me happy to hear ♪

My haggling went great, so let me treat you to something as thanks for waiting.  

Tell me aaall about the specialties you’d recommend, Shu-san… ☆

Shu: Hmm… How about marron chauds— roasted chestnuts, then? 

It’s a winter specialty that you can find sold all around the city during the season. 

Madara: Sounds good! I’m sure it’ll warm us up. 

I can smell something fragrant over there, let’s go eat! 

---

TL Notes:

Shu’s lines aimed at Madara here is basically a 1-1 replica of a similar exchange in Steampunk Museum, which Madara tries to mention right after

Good old Madara idioms :] the original is 道連れ世は情け which doesn’t have an eng equivalent afaik? So I just used a shortened version of the meaning

This isn’t a correction or anything but Madara is so close to the actual most common theory… as Shu said there’s multiple theories, but one of the most common is that some of the goods sold in the markets were believed to have had actual flea infestations. I have never seen Shu’s theory before

This isn't proofread and was done in one go so feel free to correct me on anything!

[or0ch1maru]

Shyly asking: Zetsu nsfw headcanons 🌓

hiiiiiii, this^ this right here is wtf I’m talking aboutttttt, let’s get into it🫵🏻

Warnings: this is literally porn, 18+, double penetration, degrading, praising, quickies, zetsu with two dicks, orgasm denial, toys, hair pulling, the occasional slap, possessive kink, period sex, brat taming

Sorry if this is all over the place, my thoughts were bouncing around my head and felt like I couldn’t get them out fast enough lmfao

•

-two cocks: starting off strong I know but come on

-one sits on top of the other(like how I believe Kisa’s set up) so when he’s feeling particularly mean, just know both holes are being tormented(who are we kidding, both holes are getting fucked every time)

-now, I mentioned in my last hc post, that he’ll split up into two separate beings and go about his business. Yea, some of his business is you

-white Zetsu(sweet baby)will distract you with literally anything, giving black Zetsu a chance to trap you

-black Zetsu is the meanie, degrading you, his words so filthy that you can’t help but become soaked. White Zetsu praises you. Calling you his princess as he holds you against his chest. Back pressed against him as he watches black Zetsu shove his fingers down your shorts

-“ohh, bein’ so good for us princess, just look at you.” He’ll coo into your ear, moving one hand up to your mouth, either covering it completely or shoving a finger or two in your mouth

-“quit with that shit, she’s nothing but a lil’ whore. I mean, look.” Black Zetsu retorts back, pulling his hand from your pants, holding up his fingers that are covered in your slick. You whining into white Zetsu’s hand from being denied your release

-they loveeeeee having you cum and cream on their cocks which is why, 90% of the time, they pull their fingers/tongue/toys away from you before you have the chance

-one of their favorite things is oral. They have oral fixations. White Zetsu loves and craves, has even cried because of his need to have you sit on his face. His hands gripping your thighs as he holds you against his head, black Zetsu taking this opportunity to shove his cock down your throat

-loves pulling his cock out to smack against your tongue and cheek before roughing cramming it back. Groaning at the sight of your glossed over eyes, tears forming in the corners

-they could go for hoursssssssss. If none of you have missions for a few days, just know you’ll be bent over any surface of your shared room, in the shower, folded like a pretzel. And you’ll lose your ability to walk

-now, double penetration wise, they’ll use their fingers and toys to stretch you out and prepare you before going any further. They may be cruel, but they know their princess’ limits. Wanting you to be fully comfortable and ready before they proceed

-safe word!! Is a must

-sometimes, if they don’t separate, they’ll have you in doggy, taking you from behind. Your cute pussy being stuffed to the max by both cocks

-when they do separate, black Zetsu takes your pussy, only because he knows you can handle his roughness better while sweet white zetsu, fills your ass. He goes at a slower pace, especially when you’re taking him for the first time and even when you’ve adjusted, he’ll speed up but never rough with you

-“you loved being stuffed huh princess?”, “fuckin’ hell, could live like this. You’re so warm.”, “gods you look so pretty baby, bein’ such a good girl.”

-“our girl is such a cock hungry slut huh?”, “you love being fucked by two cocks don’t you lovey?”, “take it baby, fuckin’ take it.”

-they don’t mind period sex at all. Aren’t afraid to eat you out either. They know orgasms help relieve cramps so just know you’ll be well taken care of

-they have a collection of dildos, vibrators, and butt plugs. One of their favorites being the vibrator that they can control

-watching you try to keep your composure while talking to Itachi, noting the slight blush to your cheeks

-when black Zetsu is feeling mean, whether it’s stress, need after being away on a mission, or you acting like a damn brat, he’ll pull you into the room, slip a cute little plug into you before letting you get back to business. He’s a patient man. Could wait alllllll day until your holes were prepped

-they both love leaving hickeys. Purple and red marks littering your thighs, chest, collar bones and neck. Not caring who sees them, they want people to know your his

-when you’re giving black Zetsu head, he loves having you on your knees in front of him, his hand pulling your hair roughly as he yanks you around, guiding your mouth to where he needs it

-when you act like a brat, he won’t hesitate to make contact to your cheek, nothing that’ll ever leave a mark or hurt you. More like a tap tbh. Just something he knows will make you pay attention

-prefers to just pull his cock out, and have that hit you in the cheek

-if he’s feeling particularly needy, he’ll pull you away from whatever you’re doing, just to shove you up against the wall, face mushed against the stone as he fucks into you

-could be in an empty hallway of the compound, a bathroom, he’ll he’s even done it in the library the akatsuki has built in

-also, I totally believe he’s into sharing you. Not with just anybody. The only other person I think he’d let see you like this is Tobi. Just imagine that omggggggg

(Phew, had to stop myself there because good lord)

I don’t mind doing a full prompt on any of this or doing more nsfw headcanons, just send me whatever 💋

[archivesweats]

Ok I’m still agonizing about wanting to get a sterling ink planner or notebook so please enjoy (or not) this breakdown of my current system and the debate I’m having with myself re: what to purchase—under the cut

My current every day carry setup includes:

Paper republic A5 portfolio (note: too narrow to fit proper A5 comfortably, but perfect for moleskines)

Inside portfolio: blue moleskine for creative writing

Red moleskine for journal writing

Slipped into portfolio pocket: Log Book (where I keep track of what I did daily, monthly overview of events, monthly overview habit tracking, tracking when I water my plants, grocery and to-do lists) this is just made from maruman loose leaf paper I cut, stapled, and rounded the corners on

On top of the portfolio: A6 plain midori Mess Book (where I put anything and everything, doodles, stuff on the go, etc. it’s a mess)

Not in the everyday carry setup I have, at my desk:

A commonplace book

An ink notebook where I swatch, try mixes, do currently inked, keep track or purchases, and do transcription stuff.

Current issues with my system:

Main issue is that I got into fountain pens right after buying the portfolio and the moleskines.

The moleskines are not fountain pen friendly (the creative writing one is somewhat, but that’s the one I use the least frequently). This is partially why I bought the ink notebook, and entirely why I bought the midori mess book. Its main purpose is giving me a casual use book where I can use my fountain pens.

The portfolio doesn’t comfortably fit A5

I don’t want to abandon my moleskines 1/4 way through

I don’t want to abandon my portfolio at all

What I want, within the boundaries of not wanting to abandon any of my books, but feeling the itch to try out a sterling ink notebook or planner:

Something that can be my log book and my mess book at the same time. I make my log books every other month approximately and I’ll def be done my mess book by the new year, so I wouldn’t have to abandon them to replace them. They are similar in size, so I could easily combine them.

An A6 common planner would make most sense: log my days in the weekly pages, habit track in the quarterly sections, use the blank pages as mess book.

Issues that have me worried:

I want the horizontal weekly layout, but I like the two page spread like in the passport size. But passport is too small for the mess book and in A6 horizontal they cram all 7 days on one page, which is way too small.

Solution to this could be to get the vertical one and use it horizontally. This gives slightly more space. Still a bit worried because my current log book is just blank grid space, so I write as much or as little as I need and just draw a line between days

(Horizontal passport | horizontal A6 | vertical A6)

So the solution, if I decide that even the vertical version is potentially not enough space to log my days, is to just get the A6 notebook instead of the planner, and make my monthly overview spreads myself like I’m doing currently. Log my days from one end, do the mess book from the other.

I’m just a little lost and a little frustrated hat I wound up committing to journals that aren’t fountain pen friendly right before I got into fountain pens.

But even if I were to finish my moleskines and could replace them with a bigger planner, so I could log my day comfortably in the weekly section, and use the dailies for journaling I don’t know what I would do. This portfolio is just slightly too narrow for A5, and if I went with the B6, it would fit perfectly in width but have an awkward amount of empty space in length.

One thing I could do is get a compact B6 and keep the creative writing journal so at least one of the books would fill in the height of the portfolio. In this scenario, the B6 planner would be for log book and journal. And then I guess I could either get an A6 notebook from Sterling ink or another Midori for my mess book. But this scenario involves finishing my moleskine journal by the new year, or soon after I guess.

(Edit: the B6 horizontal only exists in full year. Don’t know if that would fit on top of the moleskine. So i would have to do B6 vertical 🥲)

asdfgghjkfkwfoemrnw what a mess

[trulybetty]

dec' x 22 - christmas tree

Prompt: christmas tree Pairing: sequins!joel x reader Word Count: 921 Warnings: mentions of alcohol, long-distance relationships and work Christmas parties. Summary: you're at your work Christmas party and you're missing your boyfriend Joel, who you'll be spending your first Christmas with soon enough. AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

The bar was crammed with christmas trees in every available space possible. As if somehow they would collectively mask the fact that the weather outside was far from festive. The smell of artificial pine filled the air and the rum and coke you were drinking was spiced enough to give it a festive flair. Settled into one of the soft leather armchairs in the corner, your work’s holiday party was in full swing around you.

However, your mind was elsewhere.

It was less than a week until you were to leave for Austin where you were about to spend your first Christmas with Joel.

This wasn’t just a fleeting visit, this was two whole weeks with him, his family, and his friends. It was a big step in a relationship that had for so long now been long distance. It was both exciting and laced with anxiety and your stomach had been in knots since the two of you had agreed to the plans.

It was Joel’s turn to have Sarah for the holidays - you’d met his daughter before. But they had been mostly brief encounters when your visits coincided with either her weeks with her mom or quick trips where it felt you were turning back around to the airport before you could even unpack.

This would be a true test of blending into Joel’s life, a sign that perhaps the long-distance chapter of your relationship was inching towards something far more serious. 

You were shaken from your thoughts when Adriana dropped down onto the vacant armchair beside you.

“Oops,” she giggled as she nearly tipped her drink not realizing how far down the seat was, “what are you doing over here? I looked around and you were gone.”

Adriana worked closely with you in the department over from yours, the two of you had become fast work friends, a friendship that had then quickly rolled into life outside the nine-to-five.

“I just needed a moment,” you said, “Lloyd in accounting was talking my ear off, I had to get away.”

Adriana wasn’t buying it, “You sure it’s just that?”

You sighed, there was no point hiding it, “It’s just that… this whole spending the holidays in Austin, it’s a big deal and the closer it gets, the more I’m starting to worry it’s the right thing.” you confided, the words falling a little more freely with the buzz of alcohol and the weight of the worry off your shoulders.

“Why’s that?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“I’ve met Sarah plenty of times before, but this is more than just an afternoon together. It’s a whole two weeks of practically playing house. It’s real.”

Adriana reached across to grab your hand and gave it a squeeze, “It’s going to be amazing! You’re great with Sarah, she loves you and Joel is absolutely crazy about you! I saw the way he looked at you at the conference when he came out. This is just the next natural step.”

“He’s just too good for me, Addy, what if I mess all this up?” you confessed, which was met with a snort from your friend.

Adriana's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, “Come on, not this again, that’s bullshit and you know it. You’re an amazing woman and he is the lucky one.” she scoffed with a flick of her wrist, she knew plenty about your past dating history to make this claim.

You knew her words were meant to offer comfort, but they just further solidified the gravity of your upcoming trip. Joel’s text messages, once sparse and mostly practical due to his aversion to the act of texting, had become more frequent and filled with anticipation for your arrival.

You fumbled with your phone, fishing it out of your pocket with a triumphant ‘Aha!’ – Once you had it in hand, you proceeded to unlock it, your fingers a little unsteady from the alcohol. “Here, lemme show you,” you insisted, navigating to your text thread with Joel.

But only remembering last second to check for anything scandalous between the two of you – you’d made that mistake once ot twice before.

Finally, you held your phone up for Adriana to see his latest text to you, “I mean, look at this!”

‘Be safe tonight, call me later if you can. Say hi to everyone for me, can’t wait for you to be here - J’

Adriana leaned over to read, “Aw, that’s sweet.”

“I know,” you turned back the phone to read the text again, “you have to understand, this man doesn’t text. I send him a message needing a one-word answer and I get a phone call!”

Adriana placed a comforting hand on yours again, “It’s all going to be okay, nerves are normal. But this man here,” she pointed to the screen, “he obviously cares a lot about you, and you are head over heels with him. I’m positive this is going to be good for the two of you.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself checking the same message again and texting Joel a simple ‘Miss you’ followed by a hasty, ‘Sorry, it’s late! Hope you had a good night with Tommy Speak to you tomorrow!’

It was a small reminder of the delicate balance you’d been learning to navigate with one another—being present in your own world there while preparing to immerse yourself in his, in a place where you’d be welcomed not just by Joel but by his daughter who meant the world to him.

[les-pompiers118]

What a cruel thing to pretend

1000 words | rated Teen | Hen & Buck

A 1x03 coda ficlet for @911hiatus's prompt, "cruelty." Song title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple.

“I didn’t even know Chimney was going to propose,” Buck says, just to break the silence that’s been hanging over the table for too long.

Hen hums into her coffee cup in acknowledgement, but her eyes stay fixed on some point across the cafeteria. Her sandwich sits abandoned in its plastic clamshell with only a couple bites taken out of it. Buck scarfed down his own in about ten seconds flat and he’s thinking about getting back in line for another. But he shouldn’t abandon Hen, not when she still looks so wrung out.

Chimney’s out of his coma, which should be cause for celebration, Buck thinks. He’s choosing to be optimistic—inside his head anyway, because every time he says it out loud, Bobby and Hen feel the need to lecture him about long recovery timelines and the complicated nature of traumatic brain injuries. Hey, it won’t hurt to put some good vibes out into the universe, Buck figures. And besides, Chim seems like the kind of guy who never lets anything keep him down for long.

Hen slides her sandwich across the table with a loud sigh. “Go ahead. You’ve been staring at it for five minutes.”

Buck protests, but accepts it anyway. Ham and cheese. There’s a pile of baby spinach under the top half of the mushy croissant, which he picks off before taking a deliberately big bite. Hen shakes her head at him with a hint of a smile, which Buck returns. That’s better.

“So his family’s all in Korea?” he asks.

“Yeah, his dad and his stepmom,” Hen replies, fiddling with her empty cup. “His mom passed away a long time ago.”

“Do you think they’ll come to see him?”

Hen shakes her head again. “It’s not a good relationship.”

“I get that,” Buck says thoughtfully, then grins. “Hey, if I ever get hurt, do not call my parents, okay? Even if I’m on death’s door with my guts hanging out and only five drops of blood left in my body. Just don’t.”

Hen frowns, even though he tried to say it in a joking kind of way. She looks like she’s about to ask questions—ones that Buck definitely doesn’t want to answer—so he crams the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Her frown turns into a grimace of disgust.

“We’re in public, you know,” she chastises him.

“So? I’m sure they’ve seen hungry firefighters here before,” Buck says through his half-chewed mouthful. “Should we bring something back for Bobby?”

“Just coffee, he said.”

Buck piles their trash onto the plastic tray and pictures Bobby sitting alone in the ICU waiting area. Three rows of empty chairs and a TV with a cable news network on mute in the corner. “Tatiana’s really not coming, is she?”

“I don’t believe so,” Hen says tightly.

“Geez. There’s his answer, I guess.”

“Yup.”

“Ouch. Maybe he should have given that decision a little more thought.” Buck notices the disapproval in Hen’s face, and it’s not directed at him for once. “He didn’t tell you he was gonna ask her, did he?”

“Nope.”

Buck huffs. “I thought you guys told each other everything.”

“So did I, Buck. So did I,” Hen sighs. “They’ve been dating less than a year. I don’t know what got into his head.”

“He was afraid she would leave him,” Buck finds himself saying with sudden certainty. “It was a Hail Mary.”

“He tell you that?” Hen demands.

“No, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? He hardly ever mentioned her except to say he didn’t understand why she was dating him. I mean, besides the firefighter kink. It’s kind of like he knew, deep down, that she wasn’t in love with him.”

Hen’s eyebrows shoot up. “That is surprisingly perceptive, Firehose.”

“Okay, okay,” Buck says, holding up his hands. “You know I’m not doing that anymore. As a matter of fact, I got asked out on a date last week—an actual date—and I said no.”

“Did you now?” Hen looks totally unimpressed. She wrinkles up her nose and asks, with feigned sympathy, “Was she not hot enough, Buckaroo?”

“No, I have no idea what she looks like! We’ve only talked on the phone a few times, and she’s really nice. I just—”

“Don’t know if you want to date her?” Hen finishes for him.

Buck shrugs. He doesn’t want to repeat the excuses he gave Abby, because he has a feeling Hen will never, ever let him live it down if she hears him describe himself as irresistible. Truthfully, he’s not even sure he knows how to start a serious relationship, much less sustain one. Confidence and decent looks can only get a guy so far—no further than a quick fuck in a fire engine, it turns out.

Let’s not ruin everything by actually getting to know each other. It felt like a small, casual cruelty at the time, but now Buck thinks it was probably for the best that she didn’t give him her number. How messed up is he, gorging himself on meaningless sex? Chimney and Tatiana’s sudden nosedive doesn’t exactly make Buck eager to give it a go, either. Almost a year wasted trying to hold onto a woman who was probably never in love with him. Who wants that?

“You know, I think I’m steering clear of women altogether for a while,” Buck says, at last, then changes the subject. “So, how long have you been married?”

“Six years and counting,” Hen answers.

“Happily ever after?”

She chuckles. “That’s not a thing in real life, Buck. There are always bumps in the road, sometimes right from the first date. Big, big bumps. That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, though.”

“Right from the first date, huh? That sounds like a story,” Buck says with an expectant grin.

“Oh, it is. Come on.” She waves her hand at the tray on the table as she stands up. “You take care of that. I’ll grab some coffee for Cap. And then I’ll tell you on the way back to the ICU.”

“Have you told Chim the story already?”

“Chimney is the story, at least for our first date. Actually,” Hen laughs, “he’s more like the punchline.”

Buck laughs, too. “That’s Chimney for you.”

“It certainly is,” Hen agrees.

[artfightdramaconfessions]

post/755736860361457664 (I interchangeably say you both as in anon and in general, and I both as in myself and the theoretical person the argument applies to.)

And I don't understand people who find characters with "don't include in mass attacks" in the description and then include them in mass attacks, but here we are anyway. <- guy who was included in a mass attack despite having a disclaimer not to in bold and italics eight fucking times throughout his whole profile, character descriptions, individual permissions and global permissions and is currently a little bit miffed about it and this whole debate.

Assuming the given person is okay with character interaction (I'm not, for example. Not with your characters and not with a stranger's characters.), there's a bit of a difference between "X and Y character are interacting and this is the focus of the piece" and "the piece consists of 50 different and mostly unrelated characters all desperately fighting for the viewers attention while crammed onto one canvas and/or the focus is on some rando you've never seen in your life and don't care about while your character is a total of 20 pixels in the bottom left corner and facing away from the viewer and/or all of the characters are standing separately and you might as well just cut the piece up to make each one an individual attack because the level of interaction between them is next to none". It's about the scope of the thing. I don't care about "feeling special", I just don't want a piece obviously meant for someone else.

Regarding point 1: you do realise that thousands of people daily draw individual character attacks just fine, right? I've done that. I've drawn several characters with a similar theme in a bunch of individual attacks and it was fine. Why are you going into this argument assuming you HAVE to include every character fitting a particular theme in a mass attack? I promise you, anyone who hates mass attacks is gonna be okay with you not including their theoretical pirate OC in your pirate themed mass attack. Because they don't like mass attacks. That's the point. You may not understand it, but some of us would simply rather get 1 attack of our individual OC than 20 mass attacks. And that's okay! Not everyone is going to like something just because you do. That's okay. There are tons of people on art fight who would love to be included, stop trying to force people who don't into it. I am begging you. This isn't reverse psychology or a "change my mind" situation, if someone says they don't like mass attacks, including them in one is not going to make them happy.

Also, probably petty but I need to point it out, if you make a 100 OC mass attack then you wouldn't be able to fit my 1 in there anyway, because there's a 100 characters per attack limit.

Regarding point 2: I don't care about ratio. My ratio is fine. Hell, here's an opposite argument: why make a mass attack when you could make a bunch of separate attacks and boost your ratio? I mean, it's free number goes up. If you care about ratio then that's the superior option here, innit?

Anyway, it doesn't matter if it's "free art" - and I hate this argument too btw. Not drawing my characters at all if you don't like my permissions is free too! I'm not forcing you to draw for me. I don't even know when you do until you post it. You're not doing me a solid by drawing something I explicitly said I don't like. You're just making the whole thing awkward and uncomfortable.

I don't want to be included in mass attacks, and you could think my reason for this preference is the stupidest, pettiest, most inconsequential reason one could possibly have, or I could not tell you my reason at all, and either way it wouldn't matter at all. Because it's my character. Include your own characters in as many mass attacks as you want. Include the characters of people who like mass attacks in as many mass attacks as you want. Leave mine out of them. I'll be fine. I don't want my character be the focus of a mass attack and I don't want my character in the corner or something. That's the whole point. I don't want them included at all. And that's all that matters. So just don't. Don't waste your time and don't waste my time, either.

TL;DR people have preferences, anon. There's nothing to understand here.

(Also, my actual personal reasons for this are: 1. I have OCs who are so incredibly personal to me that I don't want them shoved in with a bunch of strangers, 2. art fight's blocking system sucks and I don't want someone to accidentally put me in the same piece as someone I blocked, for obvious reasons - just the thought of it gives me anxiety, 3. just as one of the commenters said, there are people I don't want to interact with that are popular in fandoms I have OCs in, and I don't want my OCs on the same canvas as theirs. And I just don't like them.)

related post

[skellebonez]

A Trip For Two?

The final fic for @lunar-wandering's Monkie Destiny Challenge! I WAS doing 8 prompts per "week", sometimes using both prompts per day and sometimes just one. This one includes:

... a lot fdkjgfdkslj. I was only able to implement a few random ones.

Happy Halloween!

AO3 Link!

“I can't believe you convinced me to do this,” Pigsy said with a grunt, hand held against the wall as he followed it toward their destination through the pitch black darkness.

“I can't believe you agreed to it only the second time I asked,” Tang countered, a soft excited but nervous laugh echoing softly.

To be fair, Pigsy had always wanted to try one of these escape rooms. He just never got around to finding the time or the right one close enough to give it a shot. Why Tang wanted to go to a murder mystery themed one specifically was easy enough, he wanted to give all his recent extra study focus a new target.

He’d been extra focused ever since the incident with Azure, no more cramming at the last second for anything. Granted, he DID change up his method of study from the one that Shifu Subodhi had him work with, but this new one seemed to work better for him in the long run when balancing the rest of his life duties. Heck, he’d even applied himself to helping Pigsy research different methods of cooking ingredients to elevate his noodles even further.

But he’d also been getting antsy. Not just because of any reason related to his studies, though he was getting more and more frustrated with not “having a better fitting challenge” every so often, antsy with all the stuff going on around them. The constant endangerment, new enemies at every corner, new powers he seemed to continue to need to master and experiment. He thought they needed something that Pigsy hadn’t had in decades.

A vacation.

So, of course, Tang figured he could kill two birds with one stone. An escape room meant a challenge he could meet head on. And this one was offering a prize to anyone who could beat it within a certain time limit. One romantic getaway for two in Guilin, where Tang promised to take him to the Yulong river when they win this.

Tang was overwhelmingly positive they would.

Pigsy had… reservations.

“Tang, you know I’ve never been good with riddles,” Pigsy protested with a snorting laugh.

“No, but you ARE good at problem solving in other ways!” Tang boasted as he looked their pamphlet over. “I’ve seen you somehow manage to Tetris in all those ingredients in your supply cabinet for the shop.”

“That’s just work brain.”

“Well your work brain and my school brain may be brilliant enough to solve this challenge and get us that romantic getaway prize.”

Pigsy couldn’t help the soft smile that crept on his face at Tang’s boasting. It was sweet, how much confidence he had in the two of them.

But Pigsy also knew that as brilliant as he knew Tang to be… he also got stuck on the crossword puzzle on the city’s homepage last week. Three letter word for mirthful.

The answer way “gay”.

They were, probably, doomed. But at least this would be fun!

Pigsy chose to believe that as they finally reached the doorway at the end of the hall, Tang eagerly opening the door to allow them inside the main escape room.

The room wasn't terribly big, all things considered. Roughly the size of the entire dining area and kitchen of Pigsy’s, it was styled like a typical western study one might see in a mansion in an American movie. If it was horribly ransacked and clearly burgled, and also meant to look possibly Haunted. If the old stains and spider webs and the creepy doll on a shelf by the exit were any indication.

So Pigsy had to give the Escape Room crew points for detail! Just crowded enough to look realistic, but not so crowded it would make the game too hard to complete at all. But it did make it clear why this room took over the prize time limit to complete for most participants. Even he was a little overwhelmed and wondering where they should start looking in all of the clutter around them.

It didn't take long for them to find the first clue, or to solve it. Ironically, it seemed like this particular one was timed and they just had to wait a moment for the TV to come on to find the next clue. In fact... most of the clues in the room seemed to come easy to them.

Right until the 6th clue, a note in a vase lead them to a riddle on the wall and, quite frankly, it made no sense.

“I made quick work of the mountain chicken to hide my motive.”

Pigsy didn’t know what the hell this clue could have meant. If a mountain chicken wasn’t a chicken… what the fuck was it? Some other kind of bird? A lizard? A salamander?

“It’s a frog,” Tang said confidently.

“How in the world did you know a mountain chicken is a frog?”

“I didn’t,” Tang said with a shrug. “But this reference book fell off the shelf and the bookmarked page was for that frog. It’s probably meant to be a clue for people who don’t know that already, it falling saved us a LOT of time!”

Yeah… just like how the TV coming on via a supposed timer gave them the clue earlier…

Was this game rigged?

... couldn't be.

But, somehow, it was right there. A broken statue of a frog that looked exactly like the Mountain Chicken in Tang's reference book. And hidden inside one of the cracks was a torn slip of newspaper, revealing who Pigsy assumed must have been the culprit and their motive for this little murder mystery.

“Hey Tang?”

“Yes, Pigsy?”

“Hasn't this seemed a little... too easy?” The chef asked, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“I think we've just gotten really lucky,” Tang said with a smile. “And we HAVE had to puzzle out all but two of the clues ourselves anyway. We're also still really close to the end time and we have one clue left...” Pigsy hummed, nodding as he realized Tang was right. They may have gotten everything pu t together, but they only had 5 minutes to put the clues together in the correct order in the little computer next to the exit door. They were still going to have to work fast to win this challenge.

As they rushed over to the computer he couldn't help but see Tang's wide smile. He was so EXCITED at the idea of winning this. Was he just happy that he could win something that he had to solve? Or was he happy that he was possibly going to win a romantic getaway with his husband? Pigsy didn't know...

But as long as Tang smiled like that? He found he didn't really care either way. He just wanted him to smile more.

“OK, so we have to put this together like... oh gosh, it's Cludo,” Tang said with a laugh. “We have to put all this stuff in like a Cludo answer but with more steps.”

“Well that's easy!” Pigsy said with a laugh. “Mr…uh… what was his name?”

“Chandler.”

“Yeah, Chandler!”

“AH, right, Mr. Chandler stole the study key and killed Mr. Doe -aka Mr. Bennet-, in the kitchen with poison and moved him to the study to make it look like the owner of the mansion did it since only he had the key!” Tang said triumphantly. “Great job, Pigsy!”

He smiled wide, turning around to grab Pigsy and plant a passionate kiss on his lips and-

Wait…

Pigsy pulled back from the kiss as the exit door opened, looking at Tang in confusion.

“I… I didn't remember his name,” he said softly.

“… I didn't either,” Tang admitted, looking around in confusion.

“Then who-”

“You're going to miss your deadline,” the mystery voice said again. From high up. And when they looked up they noticed the creepy doll on the shelf had moved, turning to stare down at them with blank glassy eyes. “… run.”

Pigsy and Tang ran faster out of that room than they ever had before. So fast they didn't notice the giggle and the soft whisper of “I hope they like their vacation” they emanated from the room before the door closed behind them.

They did, by the way.

Even if they were very cautious of escape rooms after that.